


don't care anymore (i wanna do bad things to you)

by brightlyburning



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dom/sub, F/F, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Trans Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, alternate universe - d/s verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27780232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlyburning/pseuds/brightlyburning
Summary: Three 1K fics about characters masturbating for #wanksgiving. One for Seteth/Felix using 'Edging/No Hands,' one for Dimitri/Sylvain using 'Breathless/Praise,' and one for Rhea/Edelgard using 'Mirror/Voice.'(For Fire Emblem: Three Houses Rarepair Wanksgiving.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Edelgard von Hresvelg/Rhea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Seteth
Comments: 26
Kudos: 88
Collections: FE3H Wanksgiving Weekend





	1. Edging/No Hands

**Author's Note:**

> For Fire Emblem: Three Houses Rarepair Wanksgiving. Dimitri and Felix use masculine terms for their bodies.

Seteth rolls over in his bed, gritting his teeth as the fabric drags across his erection. Foolish of him to sleep naked, but Nabateans run hot, and the nights are the only time when he can free himself of his restrictive vestments.

Even more foolish of him, earlier that evening, to pause at the training grounds to watch Felix train beneath the moonlight. He'd been able, earlier, to pass off his interest as the guidance of a mentor, concern about Felix's devotion to his ideals, but now-

Well. Felix had been shirtless, sweat trailing down the lean muscles of his back, the hard scarred planes of his chest. His arms shook with the strain as he slashed and twisted and stepped through his forms, fighting demons he couldn't defeat. His loose training trousers threatened to slip down the sharp cut of his hip, and with every stride the fabric strained across the dark curls at his groin, the tantalizing little cock rising there. His wild passions burned recklessly in his eyes, and everything in Seteth yearned to-

Giving in, he wraps his hand about his cock, thumb slipping over the slick head, palm bumping against the promise of a knot, and hisses at the sharp jolt of pleasure.

He'd wanted to knot his hand in Felix's nearly-unbound hair, tug to watch that mouth too used to grief fall open in sudden lust, and command, all the weight of centuries in his voice,

"Kneel."

Oh, that image-

_They're in his bedroom. Felix falls to his knees like he's been waiting all his life for someone to tell him how. His cheeks burn red, but he obeys when Seteth nods at his trousers and murmurs,_

_"Off."_

_Felix, hands steady in the way of someone holding back the urge to tremble, pushes his trousers down his thighs, shifts onto one knee, then the other, and tosses them away._

Seteth's hips snap up, and only a sharp squeeze at the base of his cock keeps him from coming earlier than he planned. No, this fantasy is too good, his mind too base, his body too greedy, and so he eases himself back down to the bed, returns to a slow, teasing stroke.

_"Lovely boy," Seteth says, and is utterly enchanted by the way Felix's blush spreads to even his ears. He gentles his hand in Felix's hair, uses the toe of his boot to urge Felix's thighs apart, and then steps back to see._

_Even here, Felix is brave, no shyness or shame in him at all. He angles himself for Seteth's perusal: a small pink cock, flushed and dripping, and beneath that, in the valley of his body, his hole, clutching hungrily at the air._

Seteth moans, grip tightening, and bucks into the slick sweet tunnel of his fist.

_"You need to settle," he murmurs, and Felix's gaze flicks away. His shoulders, too high for comfort with his arms behind his back like that, tense even further._

_"I can't, not with the boar the way he is, talking to no one in that cathedral," Felix says, and his voice rings with anger, self-recrimination. Still so loyal, even now, and Seteth tugs him forward as he walks backward, enjoying the sudden widening of Felix's eyes as he scrambles to follow on his knees._

_Seteth sits down on his bed, tugs Felix to sit between his spread knees, and watches the knowledge of his position, how close he is to Seteth's cock, wash across Felix's face, pinken his chest. His cock throbs with need, the desire to paint his precome across those snarling lips a living thing, but no- this is about Felix, about the guidance Seteth can offer, the shelter he can give._

_"No," he says, and Felix, his hands already halfway to Seteth's belt, pauses, brow furrowing._

Goddess- he should have known better than to think of leather and Felix at the same time, the image of a collar around that proud neck bright in Seteth's mind, and he makes an awful pitiful sound as he eases himself back off the precipice again.

_"This is about you," Seteth tells him, and Felix flushes. A shudder works across his body when Seteth tosses a firm pillow down into the little space between them, and he takes a deep, startled breath when Seteth cups his sharp jaw in both hands._

_"I want to see you take your pleasure," Seteth says, and Felix swallows against the sides of his hands. "I want you to abandon yourself entirely to the needs of your body. Don't think about His Highness, or war, or anything but you and I."_

_Felix leans into Seteth's grip on him. "What about you?" Still caring about others, for all he tries to conceal it with prickle and bluster, and Seteth hides his smile._

_"This is for me. Watching you rub yourself off on a pillow between my legs, watching you give in to your desires for me, trusting me- it's more than enough."_

_Felix's expression steadies. He nods, reaching for the pillow, and then folds it in two before he slides it between his thighs. He glances up through his lashes, wanting reassurance, guidance, and Seteth says, low, "Good. Lower yourself onto it."_

_He obeys, and the sensation of the fabric rubbing across his sensitive cock washes across his face - expressive now, trusting - as he settles atop it._

Oh, could- Seteth's strokes sharpen, speed - he hear it? The filthy wet sucking sound of Felix's body as he began to circle his hips atop the pillow, his cock and hungry little hole dragging along the rough fabric, wetting it, making it slick and easy?

_Felix's nostrils flare as his breathing speeds. Sweat dampens his upper lip, and his eyes, where he holds Seteth's gaze, are wide, liquid, pleading, utterly surrendered to his need and Seteth's control. His hips work against the pillow, and finally, finally, he says, low, heartfelt,_

_"Please."_

Seteth comes with a gasp, warmth spilling itself over his knuckles, onto his belly.


	2. Breathless/Praise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horny college lacrosse players AU with trans Dimitri. Terms like dick, cock, and hole are used in this fic for his genitals.

“Sylvain,” Dimitri breathes as they’re making out in the doorway to Sylvain’s dorm room, his fingers tightening on Sylvain’s shoulders. “You’re, uh-”

Oh. Oh, shit, Sylvain’s got his half-hard cock pressed against Dimitri’s hard thigh, their lacrosse shorts sticking together with his precome. He shifts his hips back, shifts his whole  _ body _ back, and tries to hide the wince in his voice. “Sorry, I got a little excited.”

Dimitri rolls his eye at him and steps back, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, messing it up even further. “Clearly. And just so you know, I’m not ready to touch you there-” and  _ damn it _ , how can he be so cute, this massive man who will run down an opposing forward like a lion on a wounded gazelle and yet still can’t say Sylvain has a dick?

“Oh, okay. That’s cool, we can play a video game or something. You want a drink?” Sylvain’s already turning towards his minifridge, trying to remember if he’s got anything in it other than bad beer and probably-halfway-bad milk for his coffee, when Dimitri’s big mitt lands on his shoulder and turns him back around.

“I didn’t mean we couldn’t still mess around,” Dimitri says, and even his lacrosse season tan can’t hide his blush. “I could-” he tugs at the collar of his jersey, baring a circle of pale skin, scattered with golden hair, that makes Sylvain’s mouth go dry. “I could show you how I touch myself, so when we’re ready, you’ll know what to do.”

Sylvain’s cock goes from half-hard to tenting out his shorts in a microsecond, and Dimitri grins, a little shy. 

“Uh. Yeah. Of course,” Sylvain manages, and God, he’s an idiot, he knows how much Dimitri is trusting him with this, why can’t he-

His ass meets his shitty desk chair as Dimitri pushes him down, breaking him from his thoughts. He refocuses just in time to see Dimitri kick off his shoes and sit down on his bed, holding his gaze even though he’s blushing about as red as Sylvain’s hair. Dimitri swallows and curls his fingers around the hem of his jersey, and Sylvain fights down the urge to get up and help.

“Come on, babe, let me see,” he says, and okay, this he can do. He knows how to talk dirty, how to lean back and spread his knees, lazily palm at his cock- wait. He freezes, hand wrapped around the girth of his cock. “Er. Can I-”

“ _ Yes _ , Sylvain,” Dimitri says, and then he pulls his jersey up and over his head. The jersey flutters to the side, and Dimitri winds his hands in Sylvain’s wrinkled sheets and lets him  _ look _ , lets him stroke and squeeze himself through the mesh of his shorts and glory in the expanse of Dimitri’s skin, the muscled arms that would hold so carefully, the reddened pecs with their rose-pink nipples that Sylvain wants to lick.

His cock jerks in his hand, spills a little precome against the inside of his briefs, and so he spits into his palm, works it inside his underwear. The first touch of his palm to his shaft has him hissing between his teeth, rocking into his grip, toes curling into the carpet. He swipes his thumb across the head to collect his precome, uses it to ease the glide.

“I’m guessing,” Dimitri says, his voice trembling, his wide-eyed gaze locked on the rhythmic flex and squeeze of Sylvain’s hand inside his practice shorts, “you like what you see.”

“God, yeah.” Sylvain hardly knows where to look: the hard ridges of Dimitri’s abs, shining with sweat, the thick trail of blond hair arrowing down beneath the waistband of his shorts, the rise and fall of his broad chest? It’s all too good. “You’re so fucking hot.” 

Dimitri blushes even more, tucks his chin, and okay, this level of cuteness should be illegal. Banned on campus, especially the way his fingertips flirt with the edge of his waistband.

“You want to take off your shorts?” Sylvain says, low, hungry, and watches the shiver roll across Dimitri’s skin. “Show me your pretty cock?” He glances up to check Dimitri’s expression, how he’s reacting,, and finds him looking back, eye wide and blown black, lip caught between his teeth. “Want to hear me tell you all the filthy things I can think of while I watch you jack off?”

Dimitri doesn’t answer with words. Instead, he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts and boxer-briefs and shoves them off, tossing them atop his jersey. He’s a little shy, thick thighs pressed together - God, his legs are so fucking long, they’d wrap around Sylvain’s waist so  _ well  _ \- and muscles trembling.

“You going to let me see?” Sylvain’s voice is rough now with desire, breathless even in his own ears, and he  _ wants _ , feels half-starved for more. “You’re killing me here, sweet thing.” His hips fuck into his fist.

“Yeah,” Dimitri says, a bare husk of a thing. He parts his thighs. One broad-palmed hand settles above the cock peeking out of the nest of blond curls, and his long fingers delve below to part himself, show where he’s pink and slick and shining, the hole - so small on so large a man - clutching at the empty air. A trail of fluid slips out of him, down his crack, leaves damp spots on Sylvain’s sheets and he doesn’t  _ fucking  _ care.

Sylvain can hardly speak for a moment, the insane wave of desire that swamps him at the sight of Dimitri almost making him shoot off like a teenager. “Oh, look at  _ you, _ ” he croons, and watches Dimitri shudder. “Look at that thick cock you’ve got - that all for me, babe, you going to show me how to make you come?”

Dimitri straightens, confidence firming his shoulders. “Watch me,” he says, voice strong now as it is when he barks orders across the field.

Sylvain bares his teeth in a grin and finds an answering fierceness.


	3. Voice/Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene from early in a D/s modern AU where Edelgard's been assigned to sub for Rhea.

Edelgard can't relax. She's strung tight against Rhea at her back, and even the ridiculous luxury of Rhea's sheets beneath her doesn't help.

"Look at yourself," Rhea says, and Edelgard bites back the urge to snap. She shifts, instead, starts to wrap her arms about herself, but then Rhea's hands cover hers, pull them away. "Do you hate your body that much?" Damned curiosity, as if all this isn't in Edelgard's files, and sympathy. 

Edelgard could choke on sympathy.

"My body and I don't get along," Edelgard says, the words bitten-off, just managing to keep from adding a jab at the end. But really, how stupid is Rhea? It should be obvious just by looking at Edelgard: the divots and multi-colored lines of scar tissue from the car crash that killed all she knew; her flat chest marked with a thick white rope of raised flesh where they'd cracked her ribs open to massage her heart back to life; the muscles she's fought for, every inch of the way, to prove her body is hers again, not some plaything for physical therapists and doctors and other gymgoers to gawk at.

Except now there's Rhea, and she obviously views Edelgard as hers. The pale jade silk collar about Edelgard's throat is proof of that.

"I see," says Rhea, and her voice after the long silence has Edelgard starting, her eyes flying to Rhea's in the mirror. Rhea's so tall next to her, her legs longer than Edelgard's where they lie, slim and toned, on the outside of Edelgard's; one of her arms, lean with muscle, curls gently about Edelgard's waist. Warm, too, the heat of her body palpable against Edelgard's naked back, even through the expensive lace lingerie Rhea wears - and a part of Edelgard burns with shame, remembering the way Rhea had looked at Edelgard's worn sports bra and boxer briefs with arched brow.

Rhea gently pushes Edelgard's hair to one side, exposing the back of her neck, and kisses her on the vulnerable line of her spine, so gentle Edelgard's eyes burn with it. Her other hand slips up Edelgard's body, thumbs at her nipple - Edelgard flinches at the sudden bite of sensation, and Rhea's mouth curves into a smile against her - before cupping her breast. Her breast barely fills Rhea's hand, but Rhea seems not to mind; she squeezes at her handful, catches Edelgard's nipple between two fingers and pinches, and Edelgard arches into the pressure, cries out. A sudden bolt of heat pulses through her.

"You're beautiful," Rhea says, stern, "both your body and your mind, and you deserve to feel pleasure. To give yourself pleasure."

Before Edelgard can react, Rhea wraps her legs around Edelgard's where she's stubbornly kept them together and pries them open, exposing her. The hand that had been holding her hair aside wraps about Edelgard's jaw, thumb pressing hard at her cheekbone, and forces Edelgard's gaze forward, towards the mirror.

"Look at yourself."

Heaving a breath through her nose that stinks of Rhea's expensive perfume, trying to decide whether she wants to bite, Edelgard does. So, there she is, same as ever. Small and pale, sturdy with the muscle she works hard for, her legs, downed with hair so pale it's near-invisible, trembling beneath Rhea's. 

"Look at your beautiful pink cunt," Rhea murmurs, and her thumb strokes encouragingly over Edelgard's nipple when she drops her gaze. "See how lovely you are, how wet and hungry?"

The idea of a cunt being lovely or beautiful seems ludicrous, and Edelgard's cheeks burn beneath Rhea's palm when her gaze settles on herself. She's forced to spread her legs wide, and the stretch has pulled her lips, normally tucked away and hidden beneath curls of pale hair, open. At the apex of them, rose-pink and glistening, her clit, erect and out of its hood, trembles with each breath she takes, and it's all she can do not to close her eyes, seeing herself so exposed, vulnerable. 

"I could devour you," Rhea says, and her smile grows in the mirror as Edelgard inhales a sharp breath. "Spend hours down there, kissing your hard little clit until you sob, tasting you, your submission, rolling my tongue over you, inside you, until you come around me with a wail-"

Edelgard's hips arch, get nowhere, held as they are by Rhea's strength, and Rhea's laugh makes Edelgard want to kill her even past the building warmth of need. "You want that, hm? Shall I tell you how you can earn it?" She ignores Edelgard's snarl, the harsh threat of teeth against her palm, and kisses her neck again. "Move your hand down. Slip your index finger inside yourself. Feel how wet you are."

Grudgingly, Edelgard untangles her hand from the sheets - she hopes she tore them - and pushes it between her legs. Fine. She'll do this, follow Rhea's exact instructions to the letter, and wipe that smug certainty from Rhea's face when she sees what Edelgard's been trying to tell her all along: Edelgard's body doesn't give sexual pleasure. She enjoys sweets, the ache after a workout, the luxury of sleeping in, but masturbation's always been frustrating, perfunctory.

She pushes her finger inside herself, and the audible noise of it has her flushing at the animal quality of it. God, she really is wet. 

Rhea doesn't seem to think it disgusting or base; instead her eyes darken, and her thumb circles Edelgard's nipple faster and harder. "Good. Now drag your finger up, slow, steady, and rest the pad of it on that tiny pretty clit."

Edelgard steadies her breathing as she pulls her finger up, feeling the greedy clutch of her cunt, then over the edge of her hole, the ridges and dips of her body, and then oh-

Her hips jerk again as her fingertip settles on her clit, a low throbbing ache setting up in the point of contact. 

"Circle it, slow and firm. Feel which side you prefer."

The light of discovery burning inside her, Edelgard obeys.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Carly Rae Jepsen's 'Want You in My Room.' Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and criticism are adored. I reply to all comments, though it may take me a bit. Check out my various social media and commission info at brightlyburning.carrd.co if you'd like!


End file.
